His wife brought cider and cheese to them in the field, and they sat under a hedge contemplating the morning's work in the pauses of a rough meal.
"Plenty to do yet," said Peter, looking at the large field with a sense of labour to come.
"Matter o' twenty-four hours."
The old man paused on the rim of his mug, and narrowed his eyes at the blue sky. "We can be gentle with the work. You'll find it pays to be gentle."
Peter drank gratefully at the cool cider.
"Thirsty, sir?" The old man filled Peter's mug and watched him drink it.
"That's good liquor. Forty years she's brewed it." He jerked his thumb towards the house.
"Your wife?" asked Peter most politely.
"Married forty years," nodded the old man. "It's well to marry when you're lusty. Nature's kind when you live natural, but, if you thwart her, she turns you a beast in the end. Married yourself?" he suddenly asked, surveying Peter as a likely young animal.
"I'm only twenty-one," said Peter, with a shocked inflexion.